Because Location is Everything.

At times I miss the south so much it makes me wanna crawl into my bed with a big bowl of mac & cheese and an ice cold Co-Cola (that's the way it's really pronounced, y'all!) in a bottle. Yes, I live in Virginia, and while it's technically below the Mason Dixon line, it's not Georgia. Or Mississippi, which I lovingly claim as the soil where my roots run deepest. Yes, the Roth and Raley lineage is firmly planted in the beauty that is 'Sippy and I thank God for such a heritage. I could spread my 'Sippy love all day long, like butter on warm toast, which is pretty special in its own right. My Mississippi...it's full of the blues, belles, and black-eyed peas. It makes my southern blood ooze with pride.

But here's the real deal...

I have to tell y'all about this little town in the northwestern corner of the state. A Delta town...a town where some of the great blues artists were born. A town with absolutely the neatest name in the world. Ladies and Gentlemen (that would be Greg and Dad), I now present to y'all:

Lula, Mississippi!

Oh, this makes me happy. Can y'all hear me squealing? 'Cause I am! Woo-woooooooo!

I learned about this most fabulously named little corner of the world from none other than the ultra-cool AFRo, a Mississippi lady of the highest caliber. And because she is ultra-cool, she was fun enough to send me several pictures from the sweet little land of Lula. I so want to visit there.

Livin' at Lula...it's legendary, says the sign. Somewhere in the land of Lula, MS, is a woman who can fry chicken (only in cast iron, of course!), bake up melt-in-your-mouth biscuits, and pile a plate full of butter beans, mashed taters, and sliced tomatoes. The requisite Mason jar glass of sweet tea is on the side, of course. This, my dears, is a meal meant for legends. I know she's there. After all, it is Lula.

How hard rockin' would it be to drive a squad car with the word "Lula" imprinted upon its back? I need this car. It would up my cool quotient exponentially. And it needs to be upped, I must admit.

If this were my fuel center, y'all know I'd give my peeps old school gasoline. The gas from way back--when it was $1.05 per gallon and it was fun to fill your Chevy pick-up with a full tank and spend the evening mud bogging. Or cow tipping. 'Cause that's what we'd do in Lula. Good times, y'all. I'm not even kidding. It's how I was raised.

My darling Debbie, this gives new meaning to your "name cemetery," huh? I now have photographic, factual evidence that when God calls me to Glory, the resting place for these bag of bones will include my very nickname on a sign, in a cursive font. It's the next best thing to monogramming...and y'all know how I feel about some personalization. Scott, Dad, Mama...you know where I want to be buried. AFRo, can you suss out a plot for me, please?

To the town of Lula, Mississippi...I love y'all. I really do. My Meridian roots are now extending to your soil, embracing more of this state that I love and claim as my own. This Lula is officially inviting herself for a visit. I must get a picture next to the cemetary sign. It's my new life's mission. Oh, but it is.

Thanks, AFRo...you have effectually made this the happiest day of my week. And I always knew I liked you. I'm waiting to return the favor.